Set Free
by Maina.GundamSeed
Summary: [ON HOLD] He was a good Zaft Force Agent gone bad was the story he lives for 2 years now as an undercover to topple down a crime family. She was hired to retrieve a national art from that same family. Can they work together without being busted?AU YxS
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** Gundam Seed/ Destiny and this story (by J.M.) _**don't belong to me**_. They all belonged to someone else. This is just an abridged story. The same disclaimer goes for the up-coming chapters until the story ends.

Summary: (for better overview of the story)

Yzak: He was a good Zaft Force Agent gone bad. That was the story he lives for 2 years now as an undercover to topple down a crime family. 2 years without contact with his love ones, his job as the personal bodyguard of the crime lord is rubbing on him. His line between good and evil is getting blurry. Can he find his way back to the little light he still has?

Shiho: She was a private detective hired to retrieve a national art from that same family. She took this job to free her mind from the pressures that her mother is giving her and her past relationship. Can she overcome this pressure?

Both undercover, will their secrets be revealed? Can they work together to get their specific jobs done? Will this path lead to love? AU YxS

* * *

Note: _In this story, Ezalia Joule is a single mother. Her husband died long time ago together with the parents of Dearka, Cagalli, Kira and Lacus. She took care of the four, together with her only beloved son, Yzak. Her newly adopted son is Rusty Mckenzie. Ezalia didn't change any of their real names here._

* * *

Prologue: Warning

* * *

Amazing what kind of dull, dreary errands a sixteen-year old boy with a new license would run with his foster mother, so long as the opportunity to drive was involved.

Ezalia Joule grinned, taking good care to keep her amusement out of sight behind the muscular shoulders of her newly adopted son, Rusty Mckenzie. Already they'd been to the cleaner's, post office, and now the grocery store without a single complaint about boredom or getting up early on a summer vacation morning.

A young man's appetite didn't change, she noted, following Rusty as he pushed the shopping cart across the parking lot to her car. He'd already dug into the sacks and opened a box of cream-filled cupcakes. The first one had disappeared in two bites and now he was working on his second.

"Let's put the sacks in the back, Rusty." Ezalia opened her purse and fished out her key ring to unlock the doors for him. But he already had his shiny new keys – a spare set copied and given to him by his sister, Cagalli – in hand and had pushed the unlock button. She halted a step as he lifted the hatchback and started unloading the cart. He paused just long enough to pop the last of the cupcake into his mouth. Ezalia grinned. "I think we'd better go home and get some lunch before all these groceries disappear into that bottomless pit you call a stomach."

Rusty made a choking sound and spun around, apparently downing that last bite without chewing first. A stricken look dulled those soulful eyes that were going to make women weak in the knees as he matured. "Sorry Mom. I was hungry."

_Mom_. Was there any sweeter word coming from a boy like him? Glad he could trust. He'd already outlived his abusive birth father, and his birth mother had lost her battle with drugs, long before he'd joined a gang and eventually reformed himself. Ezalia's smile became forced as she watched him diligently unload the groceries and push the shopping cart toward the cart corral. He'd seen far too much of life for a boy his age.

A dark figure hurtled between two parked cars and slammed Ezalia into the side of the car. When she felt the tug at the end of her arm, she screamed.

"Shut up, lady!"

The assailant shoved her down to the pavement and snatched her purse from her pain-shocked grip. Then he was off, running into the glare of the midday sun, keeping her from making any sort of identification.

"Help! He's stealing my purse!" her children, Yzak, Dearka, Kira and Lacus, who were law enforcers had told her to make a lot of noise if she was ever attacked by an unarmed assailant – draw attention to the creep. Her knees and palms burned from where they'd scraped the pavement, and her fifty-year old joints throbbed from the jarring impact of steel and concrete. But her mouth and her brain and her temper worked just fine. "Stop that man! Help me! Somebody help!"

"Mom!"

Ezalia crawled to the edge of the parking stall and saw Rusty hurl his stocky, compact body against the taller, lankier attacker, who clutched her straw bag in his fist. The two hit the concrete with a frightening thud.

"Rusty!"

A kaleidoscope of images bombarded her senses. Black gloves. A stocking cap. The crack of a fist against a jaw, a spew of foul curses.

Urgent hands reaching down to help Ezalia stand. A kind voice, "Ma'am? Are you all right?"

The space-age tones of a cell phone being dialed. "I'll call for help."

Squealing tires and the stinging odor of burned rubber as a dingy white pickup truck skidded around the corner and screeched to a halt beside the two men rolling on the ground. Rusty had the purse-snatcher in one of those neck-holds he'd learned on the wrestling team. He pulled him to his feet. He had the upper hand. He was reaching for her purse.

"No!" Fear churned in Ezalia's stomach. Her bravado evaporated in an instant as the driver of the pickup threw open his door and ran around the hood of the truck. He, too, wore gloves and a stocking mask. "Rusty!"

But her warning came too late. The second man punches Rusty in the kidney. Ezalia flinched at the vicious power of the blow that arched Rusty's back and freed his hold. The man with the purse spun around and slammed his fist into Rusty's mouth.

"Stop them!" Ezalia clenched her fingers convulsively around the forearm of the good Samaritan who stopped to help her. "Take the damn purse! Don't hurt him!"

Rusty sank to his knees. The man who'd taken her bag raised his hand to strike again, but the driver of the truck snatched him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him to the truck. He shoved him inside, scrambled behind the wheel and took off at interstate speed across the parking lot.

"Looky here, _Mom_!" the man with her purse stuck his head out the window, shouting a vile taunt through his mask. He ripped open her wallet, sending a handful of bills fluttering to the pavement. He waved the plastic sheath that held her precious family photographs, tore one of them in two, crumpled it in his fist and tossed the memories beneath the wheels of the speeding truck. As they careened around the corner onto the street, he pointed a finger at Ezalia and Rusty – her brave, young adopted son had climbed into his feet. "Watch your back next time Joule!"

The driver gunned the engine and quickly lost the truck in traffic. One kind citizen tried to gather the shredded pictures and money before the wind carried them off, while the man with the cell phone hurried to Rusty's side.

Rusty nodded at something he said, then brushed off the man's hand and jogged back to the car. "Mom?"

"Oh, Rusty." She didn't care if they had an audience. She didn't care how cool a teenager needed to be. Ezalia hugged the boy, hugged him tight. "Are you hurt?"

His arms squeezed briefly around her shoulders before he pulled away. "I didn't get your purse back."

A frown marred his handsome face. Blood ran from his split bottom lip. He inhaled short, hissing breaths as if the action pained him. Ezalia pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it against his wound. He flinched at the pain, but she ordered him to hold still as she tended him.

"You did an incredibly brave thing. Your brothers and sisters will be so proud of you. I'm proud of you." She reached into the back of the car and dug out a bag of frozen peas to hold against his lip.

He grinned but it disappeared beneath a serious frown. "Something isn't right about what just happened."

"You mean stealing a woman's purse in the middle of the day in a busy parking lot?" She'd never believed that petty criminals were terribly bright.

The sound of sirens in the distance alerted her to approaching help. The man with the phone had rejoined them. "I got the license number of the truck and reported it to the dispatcher. I'll tell these officers, too, when they get here." he said.

"Thank you." Martius City was a growing metropolis, but it still maintained that small-town neighborhood feeling it had enjoyed. She turned to the young mother who had stopped to help as well. "Thank you all."

"Mom." Rusty said the word and demanded she listen. "I know what it is. Those guys called us. _Joule_."

"I heard _Joule, _too. And why would he throw away money but keep pictures?" Now she was thinking what he was thinking.

This was something a little more complicated and a lot more personal than a routine purse snatching. It seems more personal. And her instinct hates it, full of worry. _Yzak._

She turned to the man with the phone. "May I?"

He handed her the phone and she punched in a number she knew by heart – that of the office of the police captain of the Fourth Precinct of Martius City Police Department. She kept her gaze riveted on the wise eyes of her foster son. "I'm calling your uncle, Andrew Waltfeld, and reporting this." She brushed a lock of his hair away from the corner of his bruised mouth. "And then we're going to the hospital."

* * *


	2. Completely Lost?

Same disclaimer applies from prologue. Not beta-read. I'm so drained. So sorry.

Note: Let us imagine that Rau and Mu here are not related, not clones. They are different people and not related. Only Rey is related to Rau here, ok? I know it his hard but again, Rau and Mu are not related, not clone here.

Thank you to those who answered my questions!

* * *

Chapter 1: Completely Lost?

* * *

Something wasn't right. 

Maybe it was him.

Yzak Joule looked through the limousine's tinted window and watched the road. The dual highway took them north from L4 to L3 of Martius, leaving behind the congestion of interstate traffic and expanding commercialization for the scenic rolling hills and lush farmland of L3.

He was alert, but not afraid. He'd numbered himself long ago to the fear and danger he lived with every day. Ignoring his emotions was a matter of survival. Giving in to them meant madness or death. Or turning.

Some days he wondered if he'd gotten so good at his job that he _had _turned.

Truth and justice had once sustained him, driven him. but those ideals had blurred as he'd made enemies into friends, and a few friends into enemies. He'd ignored his conscience and turned his back on everything he'd once held dear. As the car picked up speed toward its destination, Yzak admitted that this day – like so many others in these past few weeks – was more about surviving than caring why he was here.

Two years working under deep cover for Zaft Forces and the District Attorney's (DA's) office had whittled the scope of his day-to-day living down to nothing more than that. Survival.

It was a dam cold-blooded way to live.

He was the good agent gone bad, selling out his colleagues and his soul for big money and a chance to dispense justice on his own terms. That was the story that had gotten him here. Only the story was beginning to feel a whole lot more real than the life and loves and friendships he'd left behind.

"You seem antsy this morning, Yzak - "

Years of training kept him from starting the indulgent voice of the man sitting beside him on the black leather seat of the limo.

"Is something wrong?"

Yzak pulled himself from his worrisome thoughts and turned to the blonde with wisps of white haired gentleman. "Just a feeling." He reassured his boss with an expression just short of a twitch of the mouth. "I wish you'd let me check out this private hospital before driving out here. You want me to be in charge of security, yet you insist in taking foolish risks like this." He nodded toward the unlit cigar clenched in the other man's arthritic hand. "And you know the doctor is going to tell you to give up those things, too. how many times have we had this discussion about your impulses?"

The older man laughed. "My wife, rest her soul, was the only one I ever let criticize my choices. Now your nagging at me."

At 177cm, with a lean muscular body and well-honed skills that made him a deadly fighting machine, no one would mistake f_ormer_ Zaft Forces Agent Yzak Joule for anyone's nagging wife. Yet Rau Le Creuset patted Yzak's knee and scolded him as if Yzak were his nurse, not his bodyguard.

"I'm not nagging," Yzak insisted, hating these fond, almost familial feelings he had for his employer. "I'm laying it on the line. You make my job harder than it needs to be."

"Keeps you on your toe - " Rau's laughter wheezed into raspy puffs of air. He pressed a gnarled fist to his chest as a fit of coughing seized him.

Yzak squeezed a supporting hand around the man's bony shoulder. "Rau?" The old man snatched at his left jacket pocket, desperate to retrieve what was inside. But twisted bones and rattling coughs kept him from succeeding. "What is it?"

"His mint." The man sitting across from them leaned forward. Gilbert Durandal's long strands of black hair didn't hide his deep wrinkles of age and concern. He reached into Rau's pocket, pulled out a foil-wrapped piece of candy, opened it and slid it into his friend's mouth. "It soothes the cough."

Yzak frowned. "You're sure he won't choke?"

Sinking back into the plush upholstery, the fifty-six-year-old patriarch waved aside Yzak's concern. "I'll be - " Another fit seized his chest, ruining the reassurance.

"Rau, old friend, you have to take it easy." Gilbert wore the trappings of his wealth in a half-dozen gold and silver rings and the buttons of his designer suit. "There are hundreds of doctors in L4. Good ones. I don't know why you insist one seeing this La Flaggaguy way out here."

Rau's chest shuddered in and out, indicating just how difficult it was for him to catch his breath. But the firm command in his steely blue eyes brooked no argument, even from his oldest and closest friend.

"First of all, Gilbert, never call a sick man _'old friend_."

The teasing fell on deaf ears. Gilbert said, "You're not dying."

"The hell I'm not." Rau's breath whistled in his throat as he gasped for air. But then, through sheer will, it seemed, his breathing regulated to a raspy but even rhythm. And though his pasty skin didn't regain its healthy color, he smiled. "Dr. La Flagga said he could run the diagnostic tests at his private research clinic with few questions asked and no publicity. My heart and lungs may be going, but I don't want anyone outside the family to know about it. Not until I find Rey."

_Find Rey?_ Yzak discreetly looked away at the mention of Rau's son. It was the one aspect of his employer's personality he didn't know how to handle.

Gilbert Durandal was more direct. "Rey's dead, Rau."

"We don't know that. I'm not selling the business; no one's running me off. I'm not naming a new heir until…" he couldn't say it. He couldn't bring himself to speak of the gruesome task he'd given Yzak. _Find my son's body and bring it to me. Then I'll know he's dead_. The shallow wheezing became a moan of pain. But it wasn't physical. "He's still with me, Gil. I feel him. I know he's trying to reach me. He wants me to find him. he wants to tell me something."

The pallor of Rau's skin alarmed Yzak more than did his boss's ramblings. "You need to take it easy."

"You should be looking to rip out the heart of the man who did that to your son," Gilbert advised, talking the way a strong, healthy Rau Le Creuset would have talked moths earlier, "not pretending he's still alive."

"Gilbert," Yzak warned. There was honesty, and then there was cruelty.

Rau's blue eyes clouded. "I'm not pretending. I know what I've seen and heard. If it's not Rey, it's his damn ghost."

"It's obvious you need some kind of treatment, Rau. I want you to be in a place where they have the best staff and equipment." Gilbert slicked his hand across his thinning hair. "How do you know how we can trust this La Flagga guy?"

How could a man like Rau Le Creuset, who had destroyed so many lives in his half-century-long quest for wealth and power, ever trust anybody?

Yzak watched the old man steel his will and battle past the grief that consumed him. He was considerably calmer, if weaker, when he spoke. "I'm paying Dr. La Flagga enough money to ensure his loyalty. He'd better work a damn miracle."

"Maybe you should check yourself in to La Flagga's clinic, then." Gilbert was sounding like a gentle, lifelong companion once more. "I can run things for a while. Get yourself out of the house. Forget the business right now. Worry about yourself."

"I am the business." Rau's voice was firm. "I wanted Rey to become the business too. until I understand what he's trying to tell me, I intend to hang around."

Gilbert shrugged. "What would a voice from the grave be trying to tell you?"

Yzak had asked the same question the first time Rau had pounded on his door in the middle of the night, sobbing and disoriented, claiming his son had been in his office and left a message, begging his father to listen.

"Maybe the name of whoever killed him," replied Rau.

The answer still didn't make much sense.

Rau pressed his tattered cigar into Yzak's hand and closed his eyes on a weary sigh. "Now you two shut up and let me rest. And tell the driver to kill the air conditioning. He knows I don't like it this cold in here."

Gilbert quickly spun in his seat and knocked on the partition that separated the driver from the back of the limousine, to do his boss's bidding. Yzak tossed the cigar onto the car's drink console before settling back into his corner. Then the three men fell silent and turned into their own internal musings.

Yzak had been there four months ago, the night the unmarked package was delivered to the estate. After screening the box for any trace of explosives or chemicals, Yzak himself had opened the box in front of Rau, Gilbert and a handful of family members. He'd nearly retched at the sight of the dismembered finger. Rau had identified the ring he'd given his son and then collapsed in his chair.

Amidst the tears and curses that filled the room that night, Yzak had read the attached, computer-generated note.

_Rau –  
I thought a deal was a deal.  
You took what was mine, so I'm taking what's yours.  
Without an heir, the days of your empire are numbered.  
Start counting._

Rey Za-Burrel Le Creuset had never come home, and his father had never recovered.

Yzak watched the gray ribbon of highways pass by in a blur. He'd taken this assignment two years ago with the intent of destroying Le Creuset's criminal world from the inside out. Now, someone was trying to do the job for him by killing Rau's son and driving the man toward madness. Leaving every part of Rau's world in chaos until he named someone new to take over the family business – or someone moved in on the weakened patriarch and simply took what they wanted for themselves.

It was a lose-lose situation as far as Yzak was concerned. He knew the likely successors Rau might name. Every one of them would continue his reign of violence and intimidation under the guise of civilized gentility. And if an outsider was behind this takeover threat, a retaliatory mob war unlike anything Martius had seen before would leave the streets strewn with innocent victims. Battles for drug turfs would ensue. Good men and women would be cheated out of their livelihoods. Children would live in fear.

Yzak felt the heavy weight of fatigue and responsibility down in the marrow of his bones. He had to keep Rau alive until he was ready to name names and turn over evidences and end an era of terror before a newer, less certain one could begin.

His deep sigh fogged the glass, obliterating his view. Waking himself from his own murky thoughts, Yzak wiped the window clear with the side of his fist. He pulled at his hair before glancing across at the dying old man he was destined to betray.

Dozing with a peaceful expression on his wan face, Rau Le Creuset resembled any self-made multimillionaire who'd lived long enough to enjoy the power and profits of his labor. Tall and slender and wizened, he wore his distinguished cloak of respectability like a second skin, giving no hint of the ruined lives and deaths and addictions that could be attributed directly to his position as one of the Martius's most powerful and feared crime lords.

Le Creaust's empire might include legitimate forays into the oil and natural gas industry, real estate, the restaurant business and numerous charities. But it also included arms and drug trafficking, murder, witness intimidation, money laundering and any other number of crimes on which Yzak had been assigned to uncover and deliver information to Eileen Canaver, the District Attorney.

It galled him that he should feel any sort of sympathy for a man like that. Whenever pain or danger or heartache Le Creuset faced now had been brought on by himself and the greedy, ruthless habits that made the man a name on every local, Zaft, and Faith most-wanted list.

But dammit, he did pity Rau. Yzak blinked his eyes and turned back to the sporadic traffic outside. Hell, he almost cared about the old man.

Probably because he'd been separated so long from the people he did truly love that Rau's dependence on him felt like something more substantial. It didn't matter that their relationship was based on a lie. Yzak had done his job well, starting as a bouncer in one of Rau's clubs and working his way up through the ranks to become the boss's personal bodyguard. He'd immersed himself in this assignment so completely that turning Rau to the Zaft or DA, and testifying against him almost felt wrong.

He clung to that _almost_ like a lifeline, using it to salvage whatever was left of his conscience and soul.

But any guilt, confusion or wishful thinking vanished as the limousine slowed and turned onto the outer road. Yzak voided all emotion whatsoever and tuned into the survival instincts that had gotten him this far.

As they drove along the long, horseshoe-shaped driveway, he noted that each of the tall, ancient oaks that shaded the sloping hillside was painted white, four or five feet up the trunk. A sharpened sense of vision looked beyond the immaculate grounds, scanning the shadows behind each tree and evaluating the condition of the three redbrick buildings perched at the top of the hill.

Two of the buildings appeared abandoned, judging by their boarded-up windows and crumbling facades. Not good. Any busted window or board tree trunk would provide ample camouflage for an enemy. Construction scaffolding and canvas obscured sight lines even further.

Yzak shook his head. For a kid, this would be a primo location to play hide-and-seek. For a man of Rau's reputation, this remote place was the perfect setup for an ambush.

Despite the new sign that labeled this former nursing home a medical complex, it appeared that only the main building had seen any sort of renovation. Freshly painted black wrought-iron work framed each door and window, and stood out in sharp contrast to the sandblasted brick.

Through the modern double-paned windows, he could see the bright lights and sterile décor of the foyer and waiting room. Inside, a handful of patients and an attentive bustle of men and women in white lab coats and colorful scrub uniforms were clearly visible, even from a distance.

Everyone of them made an easy target.

Rau would be no different.

His bones radiated with an unspoken warning, an uncanny survival instinct that, combined with his unique, formidable skills, had kept him alive when other men would have ended up dead. Yzak trusted that instinct the way a newborn baby trusted his mother. There was something in the air. Something waiting.

Automatically, he patted the Glock 9mm that hung beneath the hand-tailored cut of his suit coat and adjusted his pant leg to cover the smaller Beretta strapped to his ankle.

Feeling the easy possibility of an attack like a personal threat, Yzak wrapped his hand around Rau's arm and nudged the older man awake. "You don't go anywhere without me or Gilbert right by your side. Understood?" he made the demand as if he was the one in charge.

Rau smiled at his audacity and nodded. "Your concerns are duly noted, Mr. Joule." He turned away in curious anticipation as the car came to a halt in front of the double front doors and the driver hurried around to open the door.

Yzak was already there when Rau climbed out. He stood shorter than his boss but he can still be an ample shield for Rau. With the driver leading the way and Gilbert bringing up the rear, they formed a protective triangle around Rau and walked him into the clinic.

A young man, barely out of his teens, greeted them with an articulate, guttural accent. "Right this way, Mr. Le Creuset."

After several furtive glances, the waiting attendant sat Rau in a wheelchair and guided them at a brisk pace past the admissions desk and down a newly tiled hallway.

Yzak couldn't tell if the young man was new on the job, nervous about working with a patient of Rau's reputation, or just plain intimidated by Yzak's demeanor. Whatever the cause might be, his rabbitlike movements only heightened Yzak's suspicions about the place. He took note of the attendant's name tag. _Joe Charles_. Yeah, right. Not with that accent. Yzak planned to run a few tests of his own while Dr. La Flagga evaluated Rau.

All the doors along the corridor stood open, and the rooms were apparently empty. _Strike that_, Yzak amended, as a shin-high stainless-steel cart, packed with fresh, folded linens, rolled through a doorway just before they reached it. Instinctively on guard, he pushed Rau's wheelchair and the attendant against the wall and positioned himself between their entourage and the cart. His hand was inside his jacket on the butt of his gun when the cart swung around and he got his first look at the man on the other side.

"Whoa. Sorry, pal." Stooped over in green scrubs and a white lab jacket, the orderly made eye contact before pushing the cart on past.

Yzak's breath eased out between tightly compressed lips. He nodded to the attendant to keep moving, but remained behind to cool an edgy impulse that was still firing jets of adrenaline through his system. He breathed in deeply, a new plan forming in his head before he followed Rau into an exam room.

The green clothes and shuffling walk were different, but the orderly's blonde hair and eyes were the same.

The orderly was Miguel Aiman.

His contact with the DA's office.

Something was up.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Rau was secure in the exam room with Dr. La Flagga, a nurse and Gilbert. The driver, Shani Andras, had parked the car and returned to stand watch at the door. The nervous attendant had been sent back to the main foyer and Yzak was plugging change into a vending machine and waiting for a can of soda to fall through. 

Miguel Aiman leaned against the wall beside the vending machine, facing Yzak's direction without actually looking at him. he looked for all the world like a worn-out clinic worker who needed every bite of the candy bar he was munching on to sustain him to the end of his shift.

"You're not looking nearly as dapper as when we met in the bank last week." Yzak's words teased his fellow investigator, though he pretended a rapt fascination with the ingredients on his can of soda.

"Budget cuts hit me in the fashion department." Miguel chewed a mouthful of chocolate and peanuts. "You might give me fair warning next time you change plans. I could have scrounged a tie and posed as a doctor instead of borrowing these from the laundry."

"Le Creuset usually sees a doctor named Murrue Ramius, east of L4." Yzak popped open the soda. "I didn't know Murrue recommended La Flagga until this morning. If Canaver is pressing for something new, I haven't got it."

District Attorney Eileen Canaver could be a real hard-ass when it came to an investigation. But what the woman lacked in personality he made up for in courtroom performance. Canaver got convictions that were rarely overturned. When she sent felons to prison, they really served their time.

But it was up to men like Yzak and Miguel to find the ammunition to make Canaver's big legal gun work.

Miguel scanned the break-room area and ran through the usual questions. "We're ready to serve the warrants on the drug trafficking tip you gave us. Nothing on the new money laundering scheme?"

Yzak moved to the candy machine and studied his choices. "I haven't gotten anything on the new accountant. Except that Heine Westenfluss hired him, not Rau." He dug some change out of his pocket and made a selection.

"Heine's the nephew, right?"

"Heir apparent." Yzak pulled the candy bar from the bottom bin. "He doesn't have the brains Rau or even Rey had, so if he's up to something, you can bet he's not in it alone. I'll keep digging."

"No news on who ordered the hit on Canaver's family?"

That was the DA's one suspicion he'd found no evidence to corroborate. Canaver's obsession for the truth bordered on vengeance.

"Nothing I can prove yet. The timeline fits. Canver's gearing up to prosecute Rau's son. Two large sums of money were withdrawn from the Le Creuset accounts that same week. But I've got no phone record, no eye witness to place Rau with the hit man."

"And we've got no hit man," Miguel added.

Yzak nodded. "I'm still waiting for someone in the Le Creuset camp to let something slip. But I haven't heard anything concrete yet."

Miguel wadded up his empty wrapper and shot a basket in the trash can. "I'll pass the word, but you know Canaver wants every loose end wrapped up before we pull you in."

Yzak shrugged his shoulders and took a drink. The few minutes they'd been conversing would start to draw attention soon. Miguel Aiman was his one link to the DA's office, Yzak's only safe channel of information in or out of the game. Miguel couldn't risk making contact with the undercover operative just to shoot the breeze. "So I've got nothing new, you've got nothing new. Why are you here?"

Miguel shifted position. The subtle tensing of his posture was enough to make Yzak glance his way. "It's personal," said Miguel.

"Me or you?"

"Your mom."

Yzak's fingers dented the can in his grip. "Yeah?"

"Yesterday morning she was assaulted in a grocery store parking lot. Had her purse stolen."

Forget anonymity. Yzak stared right into Miguel's intense eyes. "Is she okay?"

Miguel gestured with his hand at his side, warning Yzak to look away. "She's fine. Scrapes and bruises. But your new brother Rusty – I guess he tried to defend her – he got some stitches at the E.R. and was released."

Yzak let the anger surge through him, then forced it to dissipate into mere frustration. His mother had been attacked. Not only had he not been there to help, he hadn't known she'd been hurt.

"He's a good kid from what I've seen. Probably did some damage himself. They catch the guy?"

"Not yet. But they got a plate number. Stolen vehicle. No surprise there. But we're trying to track it. And she called in your uncle Waltfeld."

A police captain on a routine purse snatching? His concern ratcheted up a notch.

"The captain doesn't believe it was random. He seems to think they were attacked because they were Joules. He wanted me to remind you to watch your back."

If laughter wouldn't have drawn attention, Yzak would have given in to the irony of the situation. Warning an undercover agent to watch his back? "Every damn day."

"I think Canaver would understand if you wanted to come in off the job."

"The hell she would. I'm right where she needs me, and my work's not finished yet." Yzak tossed the untouched candy into the trash. Worrying about his mother wasn't a distraction he could afford right now. Rau's examination would be over soon and he didn't ant his absence questioned. Still, the guilt wouldn't go away. "Keep me posted?"

Miguel grinned. "That's why they pay me big bucks."

Though he couldn't say he knew Miguel well enough to claim him as a friend, Yzak appreciated his go-between's efforts to keep him connected to the real world. "Use it to buy some new clothes. I'll contact you the usual way when I find out something on the new accountant or where the money's going. Tell Mom I lover her. And if there's anything I can do to help…" But there wasn't. They both knew there wasn't. "Just tell her I love her and remind my damn brothers and sisters to take care of her."

* * *

Yzak disposed of the soda can on his way out the door and headed down the long, empty corridor where he'd left Rau with the doctor. Empty. Completely. 

His smooth stride stuttered as his tension shifted in a new direction. The doors were closed now. Every one of them. Efficient cleaning crew? Or cover for hidden adversaries? And where the hell was the driver?

His bones were screaming at him now.

He unhooked the holster beneath his arm and hastened his step. He knocked and shoved open the door to Exam Room 6. "Where's Rau?"

Gilbert Durandal swung around. "Joule, you about gave me a heart attack. What's wrong?"

Yzak glanced toward the inner door. "Is he in there?"

"Yeah. Dr. La Flagga's giving him the lowdown. It doesn't look good." The pinched lines around his mouth deepened. "Something happened?"

"Where's the driver?"

Now Gilbert was glancing around, looking equally suspicious of their surroundings. "I sent the Andras out to bring the car around while Rau changed."

La Flagga's office door opened and Rau himself filled the doorway. He acknowledged the tension in the outer room with a nod, but his stoic expression never changed. "Call me as soon as you know the results of the blood-work," he said, saluting the blonde-haired doctor, then he reached out to link his arm through Yzak's. He patted Yzak's arm and rested his weight against him, suddenly acting old beyond his ears.

"Your bones bothering you?" he asked.

Yzak could understand the reference. "This place is locking down tighter than a prison. We're leaving. Now."

Gilbert zipped ahead to open the door and check the corridor before moving out. "All clear."

"Go." He hurried Rau along with as much urgency as the old man's tired steps allowed. Yzak's head swiveled back and forth in 180-degree arcs as he kept an eye on each door. He'd take a crowded hospital any day over this abandoned tomb of waiting danger.

"The doctor can't figure out what's wrong with me." Rau kept talking, more confident in Yzak's abilities than oblivious to any unseen threat. "He's prescribed inhalers and steroid treatments to help my lungs, but says my heart isn't showing the blockage or deterioration he expected. I told him it was just broken."

Yzak supposed a murdered son could aggravate any existing condition or trigger psychosomatic symptoms, even hallucinations. He listened with one ear and turned the other to the sounds of the clinic. Or lack thereof.

He wasn't the only one on guard against the eerie emptiness of the main room. He gave a passing nod to Miguel Aiman, who had parked his cart in the opposite corridor._ Get out!_ Yzak wanted to yell. _Something's going down_. But he couldn't risk audible communication with the detective.

Yzak turned Rau toward the door. He could see the limo outside, the Shani striding up the front walk – the young man pulled out his weapon just as the receptionist at the check-in window behind Yzak screamed.

"Gun!"

Yzak whirled around. She wasn't alone.

The nervous attendant, armed as well, rose from behind the counter and shoved her aside. "For the glory of the homeland!"

"Get down!" He pushed Rau to the floor, and the next few seconds ticked by with time-altered clarity.

Caught in the crosshairs of the well-orchestrated hit, Yzak dove for the cover of a row of chairs and dragged Rau behind him. Gilbert was there a second alter, shielding Rau with his own body, as an explosion of gunfire shattered glass and popped stuffing out of the upholstery and ricocheted off stainless steel.

Shots rang out from a third direction and the driver fell.

Yzak palmed his Glock and fired. Once to move the shooter to the edge of the desk. Twice to nail him in the chest and throw him against the back wall.

The seconds returned to real time as the attendant sank to the floor, leaving a trail of blood on the wall behind him. Yzak rose to a crouch to asses the man outside – dead or dying, his gun out of reach. Keeping his Glock trained on the front desk, as he stood, bracing his hand on Rau's shoulder to keep him down and out of the line of fire.

"Everybody in one piece?" Yzak asked, hearing the gasps and wails of the receptionist as she huddled inside the break-room doorway.

Rau trembled beneath his hand, shaking off Yzak's concern. "Dammit. I never should have hired that lowlife. Couldn't drive worth - "

"I'm good," Gilbert answered, climbing to his feet. He wielded his gun as well. He scooped a hand beneath Rau's arm and helped him stand. "Let's get out of here."

"Take him." Yzak pushed Rau toward Gil and the door, and rushed back to the desk. He knelt down to check the attendant. Dead. _Damn_.

_For the homeland?_ That didn't sound like a typical hit. Where was this guy from, anyway?

He'd have Miguel run the guy's face and prints through the computer. If they could ID the hitman, chances were they could track down whoever ordered the hit. Maybe tie it in to lead on Rey's death.

"Yzak!" Gilbert urged.

The receptionist stared at Yzak in openmouthed shocked. _Call the cops_, he mouthed, hoping his insistence was enough reassurance for her to believe he wouldn't kill her as well.

There were voices in the halls now, as if someone had conducted a fire drill and the evacuated staff and patients were just now returning to the building. Yzak stood and hurried toward the front door. But the fallen man near the linen cart caught his attention.

"No, no." He dashed to Miguel's side and rolled him onto his back. Yzak swore, every last vicious, damn-the-universe curse he knew. He smoothed the hair off the investigator's forehead, revealing the bullet wound that had taken his life. Miguel had taken out the driver, but somewhere in the melee, he'd gone down in the line of duty.

A mist stung the corners of Yzak's eyes. _Damn. Damn. Damn!_ Miguel still held his gun in his frozen grip. His badge was peeking out of his front pants pocket. Respect and regrets swamped Yzak. He didn't even know if Miguel had a family… this wasn't right. It wasn't any damn way to live – or lose – a life.

A stroke of divine fortune had him pushing the shield down into Miguel's pocket and hiding it an instant before he felt the tugging at his sleeve. Gilbert.

"We go now, Joule."

"Yeah. Yeah." Yzak rolled to his feet and followed Gil out the door. Rau was already in the back of the limo. Yzak climbed in beside him while Gilbert got in behind the wheel and floored it.

The painted trees passed by in a blur, as did his conversation with Rau. Yes, he was alright. Pissed off. Sore. But all right.

Yzak had done his job. Followed his instincts. Made his shot. Put his life on the line of man to whom he'd sworn his loyalty. He couldn't protect his own mother and brother, but he'd kept this murderers alive. The gall of it burned his throat and chest, as Rau promised a substantial bonus and a thorough check into La FLagga and his clinic.

And as they sped down the highway – with Rau on the phone to Heine while Yzak checked his gun and holstered it – another, even more disturbing realization churned in his throat.

His contact was dead.

He had no connection to the real world now. No backup. No lifeline. Nowhere to go for safety. No one to call for help.

He was on his now.

The surrounding danger and guaranteed death that such a deception could cost him didn't bother him as much as it should have.

It was the madness that scared him. Knowing just how easy it would be for him to turn now. To forget who he really was. To never find his way back to life and love and the reason's he'd agreed to do this assignment in the first place.

He'd killed a man today. He was more Le Creuset that Joule now.

* * *


	3. A New Diversion?

Same disclaimer applies from prologue. Not beta-read. I'm so drained. So sorry for the long update.

IMPORTANT NOTE: I change a big detail in this story. As you may remember in the prologue, I said that Ezalia and Tad were married here. I change it. The new line is below. Thank you so much! If you don't understand, you may tell me so I can clear it up.

**NEW NOTE:**_ In this story, Ezalia Joule is a single mother. Her husband died long time ago together with the parents of Dearka, Cagalli, Kira and Lacus. She took care of the four, together with her only beloved son, Yzak. Her newly adopted son is Rusty Mckenzie. Ezalia didn't change any of their real names here._

* * *

Chapter 2: A new Diversion?

* * *

Shiho Hahnenfuss sweated.

Let the upper-crust grande dames like her mother perspire or glow like a lady. When Louise Leitner-Hahnenfuss(1) wanted to improve her appearance, she had something lipoed or lifted or nipped and tucked. When Louise wasn't feeling good about herself, she got a new boyfriend.

When Shiho wasn't feeling good about herself, she ran. As she started her last mile, the coolness of the June morning was rapidly dissipating as a canopy of river town humidity set in for the day. But she didn't mind. The rhythm of her feet hitting the rubberized track drowned out the memory of last night's phone call with her mother.

"_You really should make peace with your grandfather, Shiho."_

"_Is something wrong? Is he ill?"_ That momentary flash of concern that snuck around her hardened defenses should have warned her. If she didn't care, she couldn't be hurt. But once her emotions kicked in, she made an easy target. And her mother rarely failed to hit the bull's-eye.

"_No. but he'll die someday. When your father died unexpectedly, we never had a chance to say goodbye. This isn't just about your inheritance, but about living with a clear conscience. I know you have your work as a diversion, but I'd hate for you to be all alone and dealing with the rift between you tow. You really should plan ahead."_

Father. Inheritance. Alone. Three direct hits.

"_Mother, I'm a little busy now. And we've covered this ground before. Is there another reason you called?"_

Though her mother believed Shiho's work at the George Glenn Art Museum was her life, it was her real job as a part time detective for the FAITH Forces that gave her a sense of purpose and accomplishment. But she couldn't tell her mother that. For a variety of reasons, she'd never been able to tell her mother much of anything. Already stung by the mention of her father's death in a shuttle crash twelve years ago, she wasn't surprised as the conversation continued to spiral downhill.

"_Have you thought again about having your breast augmented, dear? I've met the most delicious cosmetic surgeon here in Quintilis. He says there's a procedure that - "_

"_Mother."_

"_I've always thought you'd have the loveliest figure if…"_

It was the damn _if_ that always stuck with Shiho. No matter what she achieved with her life, that _if_ never seemed to completely fade from the back of her mind.

What if her father hadn't died?

What if her grandfather wasn't one of the wealthiest men in Martius?

What if she'd been born the son of her family had always wanted instead of the daughter who never quite measured up?

And so she ran.

Shiho worked damn hard to stay in top shape, to replace skin and bones with endurance and curves, to toughen up the outside in an effort to toughen up the inside, too. Running was her escape. It had been the saving talent that a medium height, skinny, too smart high school girl could muster while other girls back then got dates and her world fell apart.

Now, as a twenty-four-year-old woman, it was vital to her job and mental health to exercise regularly. Running was almost as good as coffee ice cream with chocolate sauce. It was almost rewarding as bringing down the bad guys. After wrapping up her most recent investigation and providing the key evidence to indict a gang of drug smugglers who'd used shipments of paintings to transport cocaine across the PLANTS, she should be feeling pretty good about herself.

If…

She sprinted her last lap at her high school alma mater, the Voltaire Academy, slowed her pace and turned for home.

Maybe if she had a new case to dive into right now, her mother's biannual chat wouldn't bother her so much. Maybe if her date the night before hadn't been such a dead end, her mother's insinuation that Shiho wasn't as lady-like or perfect as she could be might not have a ring of truth. Sting Oakley had told her that her greatest asset was her long, silky brown hair. But she'd read between the lines of his tedious conversation – her greatest asset had always been her grandfather's bank account.

Shiho jogged north, up along the road, toward the art museum and her renovated condo. Traffic was getting heavy with lunchtime rush. She stopped at the red light and jogged in place, pressing two fingers against her pulse and checking the second hand on her sports watch to monitor her heart rate. As cars and pedestrians gathered at the intersection around her, she ignored curious glances and… something else.

One particular look she couldn't ignore.

Though she couldn't immediately place the source, Shiho felt the thorough, personal scrutiny like a tap on the shoulder. She curled her fingers and slowly dropped them to her side. Someone wasn't just scanning the crowd, giving a second look to the slender jogger. He was watching _her_. Intently.

Professional training, which she trusted more than personal intuition, kicked in. the light change to green, and Shiho jogged out ahead of the slower walkers. She inhaled deeply through her nose and lengthened her stride; her face fixed straight ahead, her eyes scanning the street from curb to curb.

Black car. Four o'clock position. Approaching from the rear. She slowed her pace and watched it pass by. Two men. Unknown to her. she paused beneath the shade of a tree as she reached a park like area of the museum grounds. Unzipping her fanny pack, she pulled out a bottle of water and took a long, quenching drink, using the opportunity to verify her impressions of the vehicle.

She'd seen it parked at the school. The men inside just happened to be leaving at the same time and taking the same route as she? When the driver pulled into the museum parking lot, she was certain they'd been following her.

Amateurs.

Shiho replaced the bottle and tucked the wisps of her straight brunette hair back into her ponytail. She jogged in place until the driver and passenger climbed out. Both men wore suits and ties and gloves. Driving gloves she could excuse without alarm. But gloves on the passenger? In another couple of weeks it'd be summer, for crying out loud. He'd better be doctoring a rash inside those things.

She waited a few seconds longer, until the passenger glanced her way and the two men nodded to each other. Time to go. She cut across the museum's thick, green lawn. The detour around the building would add an extra half mile to her run, but she had a feeling she was going to get a thorough workout no matter what route she took.

She grinned as the two men gave chase.

Shiho didn't take chances when it came to her own personal safety, but she wasn't afraid to confront danger when it ran into her path – or, in this case, ran after her. She doubted they wanted to rob her. She'd allowed them to see the contents of her fanny pack. And a rape in broad daylight wasn't unheard of, but these guys had had a better chance of nabbing her at the school.

She had a feeling this pursuit was related to work. Or family. At least the danger she faced on the job served a useful purpose. The family connection could be a little trickier. But whether these two wanna-bes were the good guys or the bad guys remained to be seen. Wearing them out in a footrace would give her the advantage, either way.

When she neared the copse of trees and low wall surrounding the modern statue of a giant shuttlecock, she seized her opportunity. Shiho jumped once, up onto the wall. Then she jumped to the ground on the other side, crouched low behind the statue and stilled her breathing. The wanna-bes came scrambling over the wall. The guy with orange highlights reached inside his jacket. "Lady?"

Fat chance.

Without waiting to see what kind of weapon he'd pull out, Shiho sprang to her feet and charged. With her hands fisted, her leg braced, she kicked out and knocked the weapon from his hand.

"Son of a - " He grabbed his wrist and shook his hand as if his fingers had gone numb.

"Lady, wait!" the driver wanted his turn. "Miss Hahnenfuss, we're - " She spun and kicked, forcing him back into the wall. He plopped down on his rump and threw his hands up in the air in surrender. "We just wanted - "

"How do you know my name?" she demanded. She was guessing family business now – of the worst kind. Only she couldn't imagine any of her grandfather's enemies bring two bad-boy wanna-bes like these guys to come after her. When he started to get up, she thrust her palm toward his face and he scrambled back to his seat to avoid the blow. "Why are you following me?"

"Shiho Hahnenfuss, right?" he confirmed. "An art historian who had sideline work with FAITH forces? You're Orson's(2) granddaughter right?"

She kept him pinned with the proximity of her fist. "Who are you?"

Feeling had apparently returned to the other man's hand. He was adjusting his gloves now. "We don't have to deal with this kind of crap, Kent. Let's take care of this ourselves."

"Dupre!"

_Take care of this?_ Ignoring his partner's warning, he advanced on Shiho from behind. She shot her elbow back into his solar plexus. "Stay away from me," she warned.

"Hey, lady." The man stopped over, holding his gut. His words were barely a whisper as she struggled to find his breath. "We know you know martial arts, already. Give it a rest. I swear, we just want to talk."

"Talk?" she moved aside, keeping both men in her sights. "You chased me."

"You ran."

"I was out jogging - "

"This should help." The one named Kent interrupted the debate and unbuttoned his suit jacket, showing her the interior lining.

"Stay away from that gun." She recognized the SigSauer, government issue, strapped to his belt.

"It's okay." With a silent warning from his partner, Dupre, to stay put, he used his thumb and forefinger to pull a slim leather wallet from his inside pocket. He closed his jacket and flipped the wallet open to reveal a badge and ID. "We're with the Customs Department. I'm Yolant Kent. My partner here is Vino Dupre."

"Let me see your badge." She silently nodded to Dupre, who picked up his wallet from the ground and displayed it. That was the item he'd been pulling from his pocket. She wasn't sure whether to feel embarrassed, amused or irritated by this unusual introduction. But the badges looked legit. The photo IDs matched. Customs agents. Shiho lowered her hands to her sides and took a deep breath. "Okay."

Vino sat beside Yolant on the wall, rubbing his sore stomach. "Jeez lady, you're tougher than you look."

"I told you she'd be right for the job." Yolant took an almost fatherly tone. "Your credentials are impeccable, Detective Hahnenfuss. So is your spin kick."

"Thanks." Now she was a little confused. "Why didn't you introduce yourselves right away?"

Vino grimaced. "Did you give us a chance?"

Shiho crossed her arms and canter her hip to the side. These guys were harmless. "You should have used the telephone or stopped by my office. Following a woman who's on her own in the city is hardly a reassuring way to approach her.'

"Sorry," Yolant apologized. "We wanted to keep this out of normal channel, for secrecy's sake."

Intriguing comment.

"You have a degree in art history, right?" he asked.

More intriguing. "One of my degree is, yes."

"And you're Orson's Hahnenfuss's granddaughter?" Vino seemed more impressed with that relationship than she was.

Not like she' claim the man. But she supposed wealth and power and shady connections got one's name mentioned in certain circles. "We've already established that. What do you want?"

"Have you heard of the _Winged Whale_?"

Damn intriguing. She loved a good mystery. And, as far as she was concerned, the _Winged Whale_ was one of the biggest.

Shiho could have run through the extensive mental catalog of Plant's art history she'd memorized from years of interest and study. But his one was one rare, beautiful piece she knew by heart. The legend surrounding the sculpture had fueled adolescent fantasies about men and extraterrestrial whale. "Jewel-encrusted statuette of a knight on the winged whale. The winged wale was base from the shape of Evidence 01, an extraterrestrial fossil that was found orbiting Jupiter by George Glenn, proving the existence of life beyond Earth. The discovery weakens the influence of many religions, which in turn leads to a temporary increase in tolerance for Coordinators(3). Stolen from a museum in Aprilius a year ago. Hasn't surfaced at any public auction or private sale since. The diamonds, rubies and gold alone are valued over a million dollars. The history of the _Winged Whale_ makes it priceless."

Vino grinned. "She _does_ know her stuff."

Despite her earlier annoyance with these two bozos, their friendly banter and inept efforts at covert action were growing on her. And her curiosity was definitely piqued. "What about the _Winged Whale_?"

"We've talked to the FAITH forces and have gotten permission to recruit you to assist us. Your expertise in the art world, your training and your family connections make you the perfect choice for his mission. I have your orders here."

"Orders to do what?" she asked, excited at the prospect of what they were asking of her, but leery of why the Hahnenfuss name had to be part of it.

"Word is, the current owner plans to sell it to a foreign investor in Earth and ship it out of Plants. All under the table, of course. Before that happens - " Vino pulled a sealed envelope from his pocket and handed her the assignment " – we want you to get it back."

* * *

Tbc

* * *

End notes:

1: Louise Leitner – one of the council members of PLANTS. Since I couldn't find the name of Shiho's mother, I used Louise.

2: Orson – also one of the council members of PLANTS. Just an ini-mini-mo for the name out of the council members.

3: Evidence 01 fact – quoted from Wikipedia

* * *

I know this is short, I'm so sorry. I'll make it up on the next update. 


	4. Welcoming Party?

Same disclaimer applies from prologue. _**Not beta-read**_. I'm so drained. So sorry for the long update.

* * *

Chapter 3: Welcoming Party?

* * *

"Wait here." The taciturn butler who'd introduced himself as Shinn Asuka opened the thick walnut door and pointed Shiho into the library. His raven hair had receded so far that the points of skin gave him a devilish expression which rivaled the friendliness of his personality. Maybe his thick accent was an indication he didn't know the language very well. Or maybe he was just an economist when it came to words. He paused before closing the door. "Sit."

Clearly, he hadn't been hired to make guests feel welcome. She wondered what his real job was here at the Le Creuset's estate, and whether the gun holstered beneath his uniform jacket had something to do with it.

Shiho felt comparatively naked without her gun strapped to her waist. But then, art historians rarely armed themselves. This afternoon she was Shiho Hahnenfuss, associate professor of antiquities, not Shiho Hahnenfuss, an agent. She needed to come off as book smart and boring, not armed and ready for action.

Bearing that in mind, Shiho smoothed the legs of her taupe linen pantsuit and perched on the edge of the brocade wingback chair to await an introduction to her new employer. Her mother would tell her the color of her suit was drab and clashed with her rich surroundings. But the understatement fit the role she was playing. Besides, she was here to do a job, not snag a husband. Brains and resourcefulness were the equipments of the day, and Shiho had those in spades.

She rose to her feet, intending to make the most of any unguarded time in the house by inspecting every room until she could narrow down the search. And, judging by the turrets and wings and window's walks she'd seen driving up the front steps, she had plenty to search.

The Le Creuset mansion was an historical testament to Victorian architecture, with its red brick and dark wood and ornate moldings. Heavy velvet curtains and gilt trim bespoke power and money.

Activating the electronic sensor on her Cartier watch, she scanned her surroundings. A single hit. The blinking readout indicated one listening device. She let her eyes find it first, then crossed over to the bookshelf, ostensibly to inspect the leather bound collection of French Classics. Audio only. Good to know.

No camera, no problem with leaving a guest unattended. Apparently, she could snoop wherever she wanted as long as she was quiet about it. Le Creuset's library spoke more of privilege and culture than of the top-notch security fortress her briefing had led her to expect.

Yzak Joule was the name she'd been given – warned about, in fact. A former Zaft Forces Agent, he'd been seduced by enough money to turn his back on Le Creuset's illegal activities and become the reputed crime boss's personal bodyguard. Vino and Yolant had said there hadn't been one successful break-in or attempt on Le Creuset's life since Joule had taken over the job. No one in law enforcement on the local, state or national scale had been able to make a dent in Le Creuset's criminal empire since Joule had taken over security.

Shiho frowned. This notorious Joule must have a secret weapon he relied on, because she'd seen little evidence of anything top-notch since she'd driven up to the main house.

True, getting here hadn't been easy. Secluded on seven acres near the Martius Zoo and Park, the Le Creuset estate was surrounded by a forest of oaks and maples and leafy undergrowth. – some of it landscaped, more of it left to grow wild and create a natural barrier that separated the redbrick mansion from the park, the road and the rest of civilization.

Yes, there'd been a guard at the wrought-iron gate. He'd searched her shoulder attaché and scanned her with a metal detector. But at the house itself, she'd seen nothing beyond a routine electronic alarm system at the exterior doors and widows, and Shinn Asuka, who seemed to have lost interest in keeping an eye on her. If this was Joule's idea of security, then she was overqualified for the job.

But she wouldn't claim an easy victory just yet. She couldn't help wondering what else Kent and Dupre at the Customs Department had been misinformed about. They had little hard evidence that Le Creuset had actually stolen the statue – only his affinity for rare art and business trips that put him in Aprilius at the time of the theft. Maybe the intercepted communiqués to a mysterious Sir Logos weren't talking about the sale of the statue at all. The _Whale_ in the memos Vino and Yolant had shown her could be referring to anything. A shipment of drugs. A thoroughbred. Another work of art.

If the statue was here, though, she'd find it. She owed that much to the memory of her father.

A knight in a shining, golden armor. A lone warrior on a whale. _The Knight will always ride to your rescue_, her father had told her. He'd first shown her the _Winged Whale's_ picture in a museum magazine when she was twelve years old, and in her forthcoming adolescent heart, Shiho Hahnenfuss seemed every bit as handsome and heroic as that fabled knight. He'd promised to take her along on his next business trip and show her the real thing.

But her father never came home again. Except in a box for his own funeral.

"Focus, Shiho," she chided herself in a whisper, slamming the door on those tender memories of Jeremy (1) Hahnenfuss. She was here to complete a mission, not to reminisce about what might have been.

Hidden at her sides, Shiho's fingers stretched and curled in a balletic display of controlled dexterity. She wasn't nervous so much as steeped in adrenaline. She was far more comfortable taking action than biding her time.

The Hahnenfuss name had gotten her in the door. Her credentials as an appraiser would give her access to Le Creuset's reputedly extensive collection. Then there'd be time for plenty of action.

She settled back into the chair, easing the anticipatory energy from her posture. Thoughts of her father and foolish schoolgirl fantasies were firmly tucked away. Agent Hahnenfuss was in control once more. Correction, _Professor_ Hahnenfuss was in the house. She was good to go.

"Ms. Hahnenfuss - ?"

Shiho shot to her feet at the male voice, tinged with a hint of arrogance and a full dose of down-home charm.

"Or should I say Professor? Doctor?"

"Shiho's fine." She extended her hand to the twenty-four something man in the crisp white tennis outfit. 178 cm tall, maybe. Compactly built. Not one strand of his light-brown hair looked out of place. This wasn't the blonde with wisps of white-haired patriarch from the Customs Department briefing file.

"Shiho, hmm?" he savored her name as if he'd taken a sip of pricey champagne.

Too smooth, too striking, for her tastes. Definitely more of her mother's type.

He folded her hand up in his and smiled. "I'm Heine Westenfluss. Rau's nephew."

The grip on her hand tightened when she would have pulled away, and she could have sworn the stroke of his thumb was an intentional caress. A shiver of revulsion skittered along her spine, dredging up an instant sense of distrust.

Fortunately, he misread the confusion that must have shown on her face. "He's resting right now. But since I manage the estate and oversee the acquisition and donation of his collection, I thought we should get acquainted. I want to help any way I can."

"I see." Shiho pulled her hand away, resisting the urge to wipe it clean against her thigh. "I hope Mr. Le Creuset isn't ill. I was looking forward to getting started with cataloging right away. It's exciting to think he has so many pieces; he can't keep track of them all. Who knows what I'll discover."

"Admirable work ethic. He'll like that." He gestured for her to retake her seat and crossed to a tray of ice and drinks in the corner. "Can I get you anything?"

At two in the afternoon? Shiho crossed her legs at the ankle and feigned a relaxed pose. "Nothing for me, thanks." To his credit, Heine bypassed the decanted liquor and filled a tall glass with ice and sparkling water. "Will I be reporting to you then?" she asked.

"That remains to be seen." He turned and raised his glass in a toast. "How closely would you like to work together?"

She didn't plan to have anyone looking at her shoulder, especially this loverboy. Shiho pulled her props glasses from her bag and put them to emphasize the bookish, I'm-not-here-to-flirt role she'd come to play. "I tend to be pretty independent. Since the list I was given is out-of-date, it might be easier if I go from room to room to document items as I go. The job could be tedious and time consuming, and it sounds like you're a busy man. I'm content – and more productive – when I work alone."

Seemingly undaunted by a pair of wire frames, Heine took a drink and crossed to the desk. He leaned against the edge of the dark cherry wood immediately in front of her, forcing her to tilt her chin up to maintain eye contact.

"Keep in mind, Shiho…" he nodded to a line in the paneling that ran parallel to the edge of the redbrick fireplace. She'd already spotted the hinges in the bookshelf marking a hidden door. "This old Victorian monstrosity is filled with secret rooms and passageways a stranger could get lost in. we had a new maid here once who went down to the cellar for a bottle of wine and ended up missing in the catacombs for two days. Needless to say, by the time we found her, she wasn't inclined to return to work, so we let her go. For your own safety - as well as protection of Rau's articrafts – until our chief clears you, you'll be restricted to certain areas of the house."

"But I'll need access to every room, even the hidden ones, in order to do my job completely."

"True, my uncle's taste in fine things goes through the entire house. Nonetheless, there are restricted areas throughout the estate. I doubt the chief would look to favorably upon finding you where you shouldn't be." He flashed a smile as white as his shorts, then stood and circled behind her chair. He traced his fingertips along the sleeve of her jacket, marking a trail from wrist to shoulder. "Of course, I, too, have an appreciation for fine things. Perhaps I could personally show you some of the more valuable items we keep behind locked doors."

Shiho stared deep into the grain of the desk, resisting the urge to clench her fists at the unwelcome touch. She had a feeling breaking and entering, and risking the wrath of Rau Le Creuset would be preferable to spending time in close quarters with this lothario.

"The chief?" she asked, keeping her voice even. "You mean Mr. Le Creuset?"

Irked by her lack of interest in his offer, the charm bled from Heine's voice. "Our chief of security. Yzak Joule." Heine stalked to the drink cart and splashed some brown liquor in his water. He drank half the glass before speaking again. "He used to be a Zaft agent. Lost his badge on a corruption charge." The rest of his drink disappeared in another long swallow and he refilled the glass, ignoring the water this time. "Joule saved the old man's life, and now he's the golden boy. He guards Rau and all that's his with the devotion of a damn puppy. He's the one you really need to worry about."

So she'd heard.

Heine's smile was firmly back in place when he faced her again. But she'd glimpsed the chink in his plastic exterior. Was it jealousy over Joule's quick rise in the family hierarchy? Contempt over _golden boy's_ qualifications for the job? Mistrust because Rau had let an ex-agent into the fold?

Shiho didn't push. Curiosity aside, she wasn't here to investigate crime family disharmony – unless she needed to use it as a leverage to achieve her own agenda.

"So when can I meet Mr. Joule?" though she'd have a hard time feigning respect for a man she knew to be a crooked cop, she had to play a protocol game, or risk her cover. "The sooner I get started, the sooner I can have the estimates for your uncle."

"Why are you so anxious to get to work, Shiho?" Heine bolted his drink and strolled back to the desk.

"Because it's the job Mr. Le Creuset hired me to do."

He, apparently, didn't appreciate flippancy. He sank into the chair behind the desk. Neither of them was smiling now. "I'm his nephew. I'm Mr. _Le Creuset_-Westenfluss," he stated, emphasizing his claim to authority while sounding for all the world like a petulant child. "I'd think you'd want to be making a better impression on me. My uncle is in his late fifties. His mind and health are failing and he's tired all the time. _I'm_ the one who arranged to have you hired. We're trying to avoid a legal nightmare with insurance claims and make sure his wishes are carried out after his death."

The library door opened with a quiet _swish _across the carpet. "Don't write me off just yet, Heine."

A wizened man with a shock of white and blonde hair and clear blue eyes entered the room. The gnarled fingers of his left hand clutched an unlit cigar and rested on the arm of another man with slick, long hair. Though the men were similar in age, there was an unexpected frailty about the white-blonde haired man.

Despite the added lines and yellowish pallor, Shiho recognized Rau Le Creuset even before Heine rose from his seat to acknowledge him.

"Uncle."

"Mr. Le Creuset." Shiho stood and extended her hand. "Shiho Hahnenfuss. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Releasing his grip on the sturdy anchor of his aide, he moved forward to shake hands politely. "So, you're George's granddaughter. I haven't seen that old coot in years." A single, sliding glance sent Heine scrambling from behind the desk. "Aren't you late for your game with Lunamaria? It's not wise to keep your fiancé waiting." Rau's smile turned back to include Shiho. "Especially to flirt with another beautiful woman."

Ah, so schmaltz ran in the family. Shiho forced herself to smile at the indirect compliment. "Thank you."

Reluctant to be dismissed, Heine paused beside the other man she'd identified as Gilbert Durandall. "Just one thing before I go. I'm curious, Shiho. The university recommended you as an experienced consultant with whom they've worked several times. I've attended several university and museum fund-raisers. How come we've never met before?"

The dare in his eyes and voice made her wonder whether he was trying to score some smart points with his uncle or show her up as a fraud because she'd rebuffed his advances. She'd dealt with power-hungry men like Heine all her life, and had learned to walk a fine line between asserting herself and placating their egos. "I'm dedicated to my work." That wasn't a lie, but she wasn't about to elaborate on her real profession. "My mother's the fund-raiser in the family. My talents lie more behind the scenes. With graduate school, research and travel, I've really had little time for socializing."

"There. You see, Heine?" Rau held on to the desk and guided himself to his chair. "She doesn't waste her family's money or her time partying - "

"I work damn hard. If your insinuating - "

"I believe your uncle dismissed you." Gilbert Durandall turned and blocked Heine's path back to the desk. "Luna will be upset if your tennis match gets rained out because you kept her waiting."

Heine cocked his head and glared at the man. "You think he's going to leave any of this to you, you old buzzard?"

"Heine." Frail though he might be in appearance, there was no mistaking the authority in Rau's voice. Or the warning. "Because I loved my sister dearly, I've raised you like a son. But my patience is wearing thin." His tone said the discussion was over. "I expect to see you and Luna both at dinner. Enjoy your game."

Shiho sneak a peek over the top of her glasses. A stiff, tawny lock of hair had actually fallen out of place across Heine's forehead. He smoothed it and his temper back in place as he faced his uncle.

"I don't presume to take Rey's place in your heart, Uncle. But he's gone. I could run this business if you'd give me a chance."

Rau's eyes glazed over at the mention of Rey. He did nothing to acknowledge that Heine had even spoken. Finally, accepting his uncle's dismissal, Heine dipped his chin in a curt nod to her.

"Shiho. Until dinner."

Shiho and Gil watched him leave. She made a mental note to steer clear of family politics unless she could find a way to take advantage of it. She could ill afford to aside with the wrong person too early in the game. The whole idea of undercover work was not to draw too much attention to herself. And she didn't want to alienate anyone in the household who might have the answers she needed.

"Rau?" Gil's gentle prodding brought Rau back from whatever distant place he'd drifted off to.

The patriarch blinked, then grinned. "Take off your glasses."

"Excuse me?" Shiho turned to see the old man watching her intently from across the desk. Though curious at how quickly the confrontation with Heine had been forgotten, she complied, pulling of her props and folding them in her lap. She boldly returned the scrutiny, and he smiled.

"Yes, I see the resemblance in the eyes. Sometimes it's easier to remember what happened years ago than what happened yesterday." Rau's voice wavered with a hint of his age and illness now. "But I know those eyes. That deep, true amethyst must be a strong Hahnenfuss trait. Though I must say they look prettier on you than they ever did on George."

"I see some men are never too old to flirt." She smiled on cue as he'd meant for her to, though it had been a long time since she'd considered having more in common with her grandfather than a name. And she wasn't interested in exploring any family history. It was enough to know the two men had once done business with each other. Her smile never wavered. "You know what would really impress me?"

"What?"

"Show me some of your etchings?" the line might be trite, but it had the intended effects.

The old man laughed. "You flatter me, girl."

Whatever what was happening to his deteriorating mind and body wasn't affecting him now. He leaned on the desk and pushed himself to his feet. Gilbert was right there to support him, but Rau waved him aside. "If you'd let an old man hold on you dear, I'd love to show you some of my favorite pieces."

Shiho's pulse thrummed in anticipation as she tossed her bag over her shoulder and stood. Lax security. The distraction of a power struggle within the family. approval from the boss.

The _Winged Whale_ was good as hers.

* * *

TBC

* * *

1 – Jeremy - also one of the council members of PLANTS. Just an ini-mini-mo for the name out of the council members.

* * *

yzak and shiho will finally meet in the next chapter...

* * *


End file.
